I want to be…

Pleasing

Well-behaved

and

obedient.

I want to be pliant, compliant.

The empty vessel.

I want to be everything all of the time. I want to be sure-footed, confident. I want to be…perfect.

 

Problem is…

…my demon says, chewing thoughtfully on her paw her teeth gleaming with idiot malice…

…the thing is, you are fucking this up. Again. (more…)

It is important for me to “get it right” when I’m explaining myself. Interestingly, I do this very well with little effort so when I feel like I’m missing the mark I have an initial “nose out of joint” moment until I remember “If they aren’t getting you, re-direct. It will come.”

This only applies to those about whom I give a shit. Towards random people I feel no obligation to break that shit down more than once, frankly.

So in the middle of a fairly intense conversation with TheDominantGuy about The Nature Of My Submission and Other Important Things, I found myself getting somewhat frustrated.

At first it seemed a core belief system clash, and that panicked me a bit. There are some things on which one can and ought to compromise. And there are some things that are core, that really oughtn’t be compromised because they would cause a shift in core stability. Part of the protracted “getting to know you” process in which we are engaged allows for a rather leisurely and organic process around these sorts of things. So when the conversation gets deep, I try to pay close attention. Not always easy for me, because TDG messes with my usual thought process and I have to think in ways to which I’m not accustomed.

To paraphrase and oversimplify: his opinion on people, their beings and souls and all of that is that we are / need to be “whole” beings in order to achieve our highest potential. He doesn’t embrace the idea of people having counterparts without which they are unable to function, or aren’t “complete.”

C'mon. Look at 'im. Dude was a total Perv!

I think this is all up in “The Missing Piece Meets the Big O” Shel Silverstein vibe. Personally I can’t believe old Shel got away with that title and I suspect he was kind of a perv. But I digress.

Anyway, while I believe it is an excellent goal to not be absolutely reliant on people in order to function, I can say my interactions with other humans is above a “desire’ or a “want” and is actually a “need.” I battered myself for a long, long time about this and Bubbles, my own demon, used to be the ringleader in reminding me how absolutely pathetic I was to “rely on other people for happiness.” She was really good back then at making anything seem like a crippling malfunction. We get on better these days, and I can see very clearly how slamming myself for my needs is one of the most self-destructive habits I have.

But I was hitting a wall when it came to bridging the gap between someone telling me they don’t “need” me in order to be complete and whole, when I feel I DO need. My needs, I realize, are less about a specific person than the energy and potential I feel with certain kinds of people. Dominant people, specifically. As I dug…a bit frantically, it felt, to explain this, I focused on my own core as a slave, and what that meant. The need for ownership, to serve, to be pleasing, could certainly be easily pathologized in an environment where humans are designed to function best when NOT concerned about the opinions of others, etc. But I do. I amharder better faster stronger WITH that energy on my life.

And that isn’t a broken piece. Or anything MISSING per se. I thought of the analogy of a bucket, that has some functionality , but doesn’t work as well as it should because of a hole. TDG doesn’t see that we as people, are broken or missing something: we are, essentially? Complete.

OK…but a bucket doesn’t have to have a piece missing to leak…leaks can be the result of warping, disuse, misuse…feh. This analogy was falling apart. As was my composure. (more…)

…and I WILL be clipping and sending this to Mom

Gay leather fetishists gather to celebrate skins and substance

By Monica Hesse
Washington Post Staff Writer
Sunday, January 16, 2011; 7:30 PM

LEATHER SHOW: Bill Zybach of Washington uses a flag during his dance at the Mid-Atlantic Leather Weekend on Capitol Hill.

Saturday night in Las Vegas was the 90th annual Miss America. The winner was a sweet 17-year-old blonde from Nebraska.

Sunday afternoon at the Hyatt Regency on Capitol Hill was the 26th annual Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather contest. It is the highlight of the Mid-Atlantic Leather Weekend, the largest East Coast gathering of gay leather fetishists. The winner travels to the International Mr. Leather competition in Chicago, where he mingles with thousands of men who have managed to replicate every authority-based uniform – policemen, soldiers, umpires – in leather.

“I meet the nicest people through leather,” says contestant Frank King, who elects to pair a leather vest with a red lumberjack shirt for the casual portion of the competition. “Doctors, lawyers. Just everyday people.”

King, who owns a resort in Rehoboth Beach, Del., is new to the leather scene. His grown daughter wanted to come see her dad in the competition; he convinced her that he wanted to go it alone his first year.

“People say this lifestyle is about whips and chains,” says contestant Tim White, the reigning Mr. Connecticut Leather, who, in what is considered a celebrity romance in this community, is dating the current Mr. New Jersey Leather. “But it’s about heart. There is so much nurturing in this community.”

By the time you factor in all the costs, a good pair of dress leathers – the button-down shirt, the high-gloss pants, the chaps (if you are going in a chaps direction) – can run upwards of $900. This is not taking into account the maintenance costs, such as the bottles of Lexol Leather Conditioner, required to keep dress leathers supple. Seventy-five dollars is not unheard of for a classy leather jockstrap, and then there is the preparation that goes into wearing a leather jockstrap in public.

“I got a salad at dinner last night,” says White, who sports a leather police cap and a handlebar goatee. “And everyone said, ‘Oh, Tim has to get ready for his pageant.’ ”

The competition, held on a faux-marbled stage in a basement ballroom, begins with the American and Canadian national anthems and the lighting of candles in remembrance for leather men who have died. An interpreter in a leather vest translates everything into sign language for the benefit of International Mr. and Ms. Deaf Leather, both of whom are in attendance. The contest then proceeds to the physically revealing portion of the afternoon, in which the seven contestants are introduced with short paragraphs describing their likes and dislikes and why they want to be Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather.

Doug Pamplin, a customer service representative from Pittsburgh who goes by “D,” flexes his glutes as the emcee describes his love of toy tractors (Tonkas!); he later speaks of his desire to eliminate world hunger by starting a food bank. “But instead of perishables,” he would offer gift cards, which he feels are less “dehumanizing.”

Later, in the dress leathers and personal interview portion of the contest, a contestant who goes only by his stage name, First Sergeant, describes his big-tent goal of “involving Latinos in the leather community,” then thoughtfully discusses whether he would consider an enhanced TSA pat-down to be akin to getting to first base. (Only if he was taken to a private room.) The jokes are rife with innuendo, and sometimes out-uendo: The allusions and equipment would make your average sex-ed teacher blush.

Traditionally, the undergarment portion of the competition is the most popular, but contest chairman Steve Ranger does not want people to get the wrong idea. “It’s not about: Do you have washboard abs?” says Ranger, who hangs a fetching cat-o’-nine-tails whip from his fitted leather pants. “It’s about: Do you feel comfortable in your own skin? Most of the winners end up doing a lot of fundraising. It’s people who want to give back to the community. The winner is rarely the most attractive.”

Everyone says how friendly the leather men are. Just the best guys. Not like the aggressive club scene, that meat market where everyone is judged on how little they have of something: flab, hair, pudge, wrinkles. The leather men are into substance, into respecting their subculture’s history and the prominent leather families whose ties are stronger than blood. Also, world peace.

The seven contestants are evaluated by a panel of seven judges, who have conducted offstage interviews that count for a lot of the final score. These experts are led by the reigning Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather, Matt Bamford, a small, slender man known as “Travelsize” or “Bam Bam,” who wears a glitzy belt and studded leather sash announcing his title.

“As Mr. Mid-Atlantic Leather, you have the capability to reach a large audience,” says Bamford, who spent his term advocating for the reduction of HIV and who also enjoys kayaking, camping and long car trips, when he’s not working for Pottery Barn. “So I am really looking for [a replacement] who can represent the community well.”

Other judges include the current International Mr. Leather, a balding, spectacled man with a soft voice who uses a wheelchair because he has cerebral palsy (“I’m the first disabled person to be International Mr. Leather,” Tyler McCormick says proudly), and Mollena Williams, the current International Ms. Leather and the only woman on the panel. (more…)

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Erotic asphyxiation: treatments of kink in therapy and the media - Kink and BDSM practitioners often come to an enhanced understanding of their own desires through the emphasis on personal boundaries and communicative consent which arises from a responsible approach to power and pain play.

Mirror, mirror – I found myself back there again, perched on the edge of the white expanse, spreading myself shamelessly in front of the glass

Worry – I’ve been thinking about rape culture more than ever before. On the outside, much of K’s and my play looks like sexual abuse. It’s not, because consent is always central.

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gender and misogyny: responsibility and erotic writing – I spent a good portion of my adult life being gender fluid myself …, and have partnered with several gender fluid folks as a top. Creating representation of us and our eroticism feels so vital to me, so important.

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Help End the Backlog - Speaking out works. Taking action works. Silence doesn’t. Politicians on every level need to hear your voice saying “this is unacceptable”. 76%. 3/4. That’s how many rapists get away with it on a national level.

See also: Pleasurists #111 and #112 for all your sex toy review needs

(more…)

I am moved today to give thanks.

Thank you to the people who support me, who have the bravery to be my friends. Thank you to the people who listen to me, and thank you to the people who offer their homes, their support, and their help. Thank you to the people who, by their behaviour, show me exactly the sort of human I never, ever wish to be. Thank you to the people who show me love and thank you to the people who fail to back me up when push comes to shove. Thank you to the abysmal communicators, and to the people who speak to me clearly and with compassionate honesty. Thank you to the people who take the time to see me and thank you to the people who ignore my intention in favor of coddling their own fears.

Thank you to those who cherish and love me, and thank you to those who challenge me to cherish and love myself.

I am moved today to kick ass. (more…)

Being back in the US is pretty dang lovely, too.

My cell phone works here and I can mainline news, info and bullshit with ease. 6+ weeks is a long damned time. Hitting the ground in Washington DC, having a good old fashioned taco plate with Spanish rice that reminds you of the rice your Babysitterbuelita usedta make…chatting and gossiping with a friend, and jumping into a massive bin of stuffies in a Wegman’s.

Since the world is my home, I’m home all over the world. Even in a pile of fuzz

No one will be surprised to read I’m a pretty emotionally dynamic person. Always have been. Things impact my insides, sometimes in ways that taste strange even to me. Emotions, I know, are only as crucial as one makes them. It can be tough for me on some days to let go of emotions that are generating energy drain.

Today’s been a rollercoaster. When so much of your experience looks like it simply must be wonderful it can be tough when, even in the midst of all this cool stuff, you feel a bit lost at sea.

My approaches to attitude adjustment these days are not what they were in the past. Drinking to mute and dilute emotional rampages was an extremely effective coping mechanism. I am now committed to having that NOT be my approach. Not ever again. SO, I do other things when I am suffering the slings and arrows of outrageous fuckery. I write, I reach out to friends. I try to process the emotion by turning it up to 11.

Today I’ve wanted to cut loose and scream and cry but that’s kind of tough when you have a train to catch from Gothenberg to Stockholm and then an afternoon outing. Sleepless night be damned. And sometimes, no matter how much you want it, the reassuring voice and touch of the person you most want to hear from isn’t there. The friend to whom you don’t have to explain anything isn’t there. So, you keep on going and finally have a small illusion of privacy and just wanna…cry.

And then you get stuck.

I hate it when I want to cry and can’t. But this is where my weepy-ass has an advantage, because there are some musical shortcuts I can use to spur lachrymal catharsis.

SO, right now, I’m listening to Beck’s cover of Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime, from the soundtrack of “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind“ and this one gets me on the level of the song as well as reminding me of the movie, which also made me cry seriously hard.

Zero 7 is another one that permits me to wrap my head around the benefit of tears and Simple Things works pretty well to continue the “let it all hang out” mood.

Rather than trying to drown my emotions and fears and hurts, prickling jealousies, twisting loneliness, limping anger, rather than that, I’ll sit with them in this odd pre-dawn Scandinavian night, and we’ll just…be. We are good. We are breathing.

If I need to roll out the big guns, I do what any smart girl from the ‘hood does and turn to dead Norwegians. They don’t fuck around and Ase’s Death from “Peer Gynt” gets me every time.

Well most times. Unless I happen to get my brain into the memory of listening to it when I was in Oslo visiting Teh Mad Viking a few years back in which case the emofest veers into…well, more explicit memories and different flavors of tears.

And there…the stream of consciousness designed to stream the tears brings me back to remembering life, and sex, and blood and rock-n-roll and that’s a lovely way to bounce out of a dimly-lit mood, no?

What do you listen to to make you cry…?

Trufax spoken here.

Every once in a while I get nicked by a hater or two. Or five. I have done the work to remind me it has nothing to do with me and everything to do with them. But sometimes I’m surprised at where the support for the haterism comes from, and I have to sit back for a moment.

And in those moments, I turn to the wisdom of Katt Williams to remind me to be grateful for haters.

I am responsible for who I am and I lay down to sleep and rise up from it living my truth with integrity. My motives are transparent. My life’s an open book.

Lurking haters can’t say the same.

Thank you, haters, for reminding me how valuable it is to be direct, to be honest, to live in integrity, and to act in good faith.

Hey, TheDominantGuy. Yeah this is kinda cheezy, the open letter thing but you know I’m cheezy like that, and this is kinda important to share, I think.

I had an epiphany today. Yes another, but it is OK. I have been Epiphany Free for a few weeks now, and I’m overdue.

I was thinking about how it feels important to have someone in my life, like you, who will be proud of me because of what I do, etc. And I do a lot, you know. Lots of Stuff. And Things.

And then I thought “You know, he doesn’t really make that big a deal about that stuff.” and suddenly I was kinda prickly. This, of course is a sure sign my friendly neighborhood demon is about to start chewing through her leash.

So Bubbles piped in with

“Probably because he doesn’t care…”

And it occurred to me, yanno, that is actually somewhat true. But not in the scathingly negative sense. In the sense that , instead of feeling like I’m constantly striving to be able to lay at your feet all of these successes and whatnot, rather I can set them aside and just be me, regardless.

That is far, far more fulfilling. To feel as though I don’t have to DO anything toprove anything to you. That you want me regardless.

For so many years I longed to have someone before whom I present all of my accomplishments and be reassured in my self-worth because they were proud of what I had done.

I am glad to have met you instead.

It is far better to know someone with whom I can leave my accomplishments behind and present myself, alone, as I am in my humanity, and have that beenough.

Yours. Truly

Mollena